


No More Idle Hands, You’ll Destroy the Lamps

by syrensxng (shootngstxr)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avatar Powers, Clothes Shopping, Cooking, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, The Circus of the Other, Time Skips, Web!Jon, canon's so dead it's in Oliver's domain, i promise that last relationship tag makes sense in context of the fic, jon's a kid and i'm giving him the family he deserves bc fuck canon, let him be happy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:28:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23453251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shootngstxr/pseuds/syrensxng
Summary: Annabelle was there right from the beginning when he woke up. She was the one who brushed the webbed curls of hair from his face, pulled him from his tangle of slumber. When he merely stared at her, confused; she sighed, wrapped him up in her six arms, and carried him to the webbed den she tentatively called home.That definition would solidify in time.There was, after all, a reason why children were not made into avatars. They did not yet know enough of the world to solidify their own fears, nightmares ever-shifting, changing, unstable. And he would need to be taught many things.
Relationships: Agnes Montague & Annabelle Cane, Agnes Montague & Jonathan Sims, Annabelle Cane & Jonathan Sims, Annabelle Cane/Agnes Montague, Nikola Orsinov & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Oliver Banks & Jonathan Sims
Comments: 302
Kudos: 733





	1. Chapter 1

Jon can hardly remember a time before the Web. It must have been lonely, he thinks, having so few people around. 

Sometimes he asks Annabelle about it, because he knows she won’t deny him. There was a book, she tells him. With all the tools the Web uses, she’d never known of it before he picked it up. But he did. And it lured him much in the way he does with other people now, a bleary-eyed naivety in them, unsuspecting and clueless. 

It took him. 

This is the part where she frowns, brow furrowing lightly, and tells him she never would have meant for that to happen. Not to him. Jon will tell her every time that he understands, even if he really doesn’t. It isn’t their place to ask why they are taken, not really. They’ll never get the answer to that question, in any way that matters. He stopped asking a long time ago. 

And anyway he has found some sort of home here. It has given him far more than you would expect, more than Jon thinks he deserves. 

Annabelle was there right from the beginning when he woke up. She was the one who brushed the webbed curls of hair from his face, pulled him from his tangle of slumber. When he merely stared at her, confused; she sighed, wrapped him up in her six arms, and carried him to the webbed den she tentatively called home. That definition would solidify in time. 

There was, after all, a reason why children were not made into avatars. They did not yet know enough of the world to solidify their own fears, nightmares ever-shifting, changing, unstable. And he would need to be taught many things. 

Jon would learn later that it had taken much of Annabelle’s strength to take him even partially from the Web’s grasp that night. He hadn’t thought much of it then, just watched as she collapsed into a mattress beside him and eventually drifted into something resembling sleep. He hadn’t even noticed the extra eyes, the way his vision multiplied and peered newly into the dark, teeth sharpening slightly into fangs. And he certainly wouldn’t have known the other ways in which he changed that night, able to pull things and _people_ now in strange ways. But Jon had been so, _so_ tired. And even in the dark, which now glowed like light, he found rest quickly. 

He does not remember an explanation for what happened. Not in those early years, though she must have told him _something_. He simply remembers living in that house, and being.

In the following weeks Annabelle had been hesitant to let him leave the house at Hill Top Road. She seemed worried somehow that people would see him, frequently closing the moth-eating curtains in the house and urging him from the windows. At the time it had seemed a little paranoid to him, but then again Jon hadn’t known what he was, and what Annabelle had done in the process of freeing him from the Web.

Time passed. 

Eventually another visitor came to the house. Jon listened from the banisters as two voices spoke downstairs, echoing through the old manor. 

The door creaked in protest as it opened and shut, and he caught a glimpse of dark red hair. 

“Agnes,” Annabelle greeted. 

From where he was sitting on the stairs Jon couldn’t see the other woman, but he didn’t hear her answer back. 

Annabelle looked nervous now, something Jon had never seen before. It unsettled him. “Thank you for coming. I know we parted on bad terms, but-”

“Why did you ask me here, Annabelle?” The visitor, _Agnes_ apparently, cut her off. “I thought you- how did you put it? - didn’t like my spark.” 

“The spiders aren’t fond of you, neither is the Mother. You know that.” 

Jon frowned. He didn’t have the first clue what they were talking about, and not seeing the woman only doubled that frustration. He inched forwards on the stairs to get a look at her.

“And yet she let me stay here, for years…” She was a tall woman, and the paleness of her skin gave her an almost ghostly quality. It contrasted sharply with her red hair. “I know this place like the back of my hand. And now you invite me here, knowing full well I could burn this place to the ground. So _why_ am I here?” She was running her hand across the doorframe now, skimming it with long fingers.

“Because I need your help.” 

Agnes drew herself back from the door slowly, as if hesitant to let go of it. Where she had touched the walls there were now burn marks seared into the wood. 

She crossed her arms.“Why?” 

The older woman bit her lip and stayed quiet. When she finally spoke, it was with a clipped, serious tone, words heavy with deliberation. “Because you more than anyone know what it’s like to be claimed early. You know what it feels like to have the power of _a god_ as a child. And to grow up here, always looking at the outside world but never being part of it.”  
Agnes looked up. Her eyes were soft, Jon noticed, but wide and melancholy. “What did you do?” 

“It wasn’t my choice. Sometimes…” Annabelle looked away. She was playing now with the rings on her fingers, and when Jon caught a glimpse of them again the rust had faded. “The Mother does things even I do not approve of. I know it isn’t right to go against our patrons’ wishes but I couldn’t _leave_ him there.”  
“A new avatar, then.” 

“Yes.”

Something in Agnes seemed to soften. “What’s his name?” 

“Jon. His name is Jon. He’s… eight.” 

Agnes laughed. It rang, hollow and mourning, in Jon’s ears. “Shit.”

“Yeah… You’ll talk to him then?” There was a click of her heels as Annabelle moved closer on the stairs before she seemed to remember herself. “Agnes, I don’t _know_ what I’m doing here. I don’t even know if pulling someone from the Web is something I was supposed to be able to do, I just…”

“Couldn’t let it happen.”

The assumption of what ‘it’ was hung suspended in the air, heavy in its meaning. Jon swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Yes.”

Agnes thought about it and wrapped her arms around herself. “...I’ll talk to Jude.” 

“Okay.” 

“And if she says no, if she decides instead to turn this place to ash again…”

“I understand.” Evidently, Annabelle had known the risks of inviting this woman to the house, and had done so anyway. The realization left an indiscernible feeling in Jon’s throat. 

Over the years, there was one thing Jon grew fond of in his time in Hill Top Road, other than the strange feeling he had for Annabelle. She had become somewhat of a mother to him, more so than his own grandmother had been. The woman also happened to be an avid reader like himself, and had amassed a vast collection of books in the manor. 

She does her best to care for him in that old, rickety house of hers. As it turned out, Jon still needed to eat. In hindsight, he wonders if this was due to his young age, body still undeveloped, or the unusual way in which he was transformed. Either way, he still had human needs. 

Jon was… familiar with the uneasiness of a woman unsuited to caring for a child. He saw it in his own grandmother, stiff and callous in the best of times. But he knows Annabelle is trying. 

And, he thinks, watching as she brings in an old rusty radio one day and curses at the number of settings and dials, really that was enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware that the ages don't quite match up with canon, so I've adjusted it so that Agnes and Annabelle were both turned into Avatars in the 1950s. 
> 
> The title comes from The Spider and the Lamps by Forgive Durden, part of the musical Razia's Shadow. And if anyone's interested, I also have a Web!Jon playlist here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5GyGHrUEOsx356UOSnAs1Z
> 
> Edit: Didn't realise I put this down as a completed fic! My bad, this is definitely something I'll be writing more in the future. Characters and relationships will be added as they appear.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s a couple days after that Jon next sees Agnes at Hill House. He goes into the kitchen one morning, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and there she is. 

Hardly the introduction he’d expected.

For a moment he considers retracing his steps to find Annabelle. He doesn’t know this woman, but from the conversation he’d overheard, she was a force to be reckoned. Or at least, enough to make Annabelle hesitate. And Annabelle _never_ hesitated.

But she spotted him before he could make up his mind. 

“You just gonna stand there, or are you going to say hi?” Agnes called from over her shoulder. There was a glint in her eyes, no longer sorrowful as they had been before. Some of it still lingers, unextinguished, but it is barely noticeable now. 

Jon made his way down the stairs. She’d gone shopping, obviously. There was an assortment of new pots and pans, along with a grocery bag on the old counters of the kitchen. 

“My name’s Agnes, by the way. You’re Jon, I’m guessing?” 

He nodded, not sure what else to do. 

“A quiet one, huh? Annabelle mentioned that.” 

She was chopping vegetables, broccoli and garlic among other things. There were spare pieces of cheese littered across the counter.It all seemed so… normal. In a way that nothing else since he’d started living with Annabelle had been. But why was she here now? Jon had been here for so long, alone. Had he done something wrong?

Agnes caught his eye again as he thought about this, a smile playing at her lips. “You’ve got a question on your mind, I can tell. It’s fine to ask it.” 

Jon’s brow furrowed. He’d been fidgeting with his hands for a while now, playing with the hem of the sweater vest Annabelle had given him. “Why are you here? I-I mean, it’s not that I mind, it’s just that Annabelle never lets anyone else in here. I haven’t seen another person in weeks. And now you’re just here.” 

She’d finished chopping by now, and gestured for him to hand her one of the bowls. She put the vegetables into them and began mixing it with sauce. “That’s a good question. Weeks, really?”  
“Y-yeah.”  
“Hm.” She seemed displeased by the answer. Agnes bent down to look at the stove. Jon startled as she reached a hand inside and a fire lit itself. He shouldn’t have been surprised, really, but seeing it up close was something different. Magical, somehow. Agnes stood again and dusted the ash off her hands. “Well, Jon, you might have noticed that Annabelle’s not very good with kids. ‘S not her fault, really, she was always just focused with… _other_ things. And she and I are different from other people.” 

He could understand that well enough. Something had always been off about the two of them. “You mean like how she has more arms and eyes than other people?” 

Agnes nodded. “Yes! Yes, exactly like that. You’re quick.” She reached down and ruffled his hair, and Jon found that he didn’t mind it. “Anyway, you and I happen to be _less_ different to each other than she is to you. Does that make any sense?” She slid the bowl into the oven.

Jon shook his head. 

“Mm, yeah, that might have been too complicated.” Agnes set her hands on her hips. “She’s better at explaining things than I am. Annabelle thinks that I can understand you in a way that she can’t. Does _that_ make sense?”  
“I think so.” Well, he understood some of it. But it was enough for now, and he didn’t want to bother her anymore. The image of her lighting the stove on fire stayed in his head. Although, there was one other thing…  
“Good. You got any other questions?”

“Who’s Jude?” he asked.  
She scoffed. “Look at that. You already match _her_.”

Jon wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but by her tone he’d done something wrong. He wasn’t supposed to know about Jude, he knew, but in his excitement he’d forgotten. There was a sinking feeling in his gut as he backed away, more guilt than fear, though Agnes clearly didn’t interpret it that way. 

She bit her lip, and sighed. “Geez, alright. I’m sorry, that’s not fair. I know you were just curious. It’s just… there was a reason we had that conversation away from you. We were talking about things Annabelle doesn’t think you’re ready for yet. And I know that must be frustrating, but I’m with her on this one. She’s doing her best to ease you into this slowly, though I don’t think she should be doing it by keeping you from the outside world entirely.” 

The egg timer by the oven rang suddenly. All the tension seemed to seep from Agnes, and she brightened. “Casserole’s done,” she winked. 

“Casserole?” Jon asked. Yet another food he was unfamiliar with. 

“Yeah, I figured you were in need of some good food living here. Annabelle doesn’t strike me as the cooking type. What’s she been feeding you, anyway, spam?” Agnes reached in and took the pan with her bare hands, setting it at the table. 

“Mm-hm.”

Agnes frowned. “Jesus. Sorry, don’t tell her I said that. She doesn’t like me swearing.”

Jon sat across from her. The casserole did look really good. 

“Here, take some.” Agnes passed him a spoon and a plate and Jon dug into the casserole gratefully. “And between you and me, kid?” 

He looked up at her. Agnes’ face had gone suddenly serious once more, jaw set tightly. “Just because we’re different, doesn’t mean we can’t still enjoy the little things, yeah?” 

And for the first time in a long time, Jon had a feeling things were going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! First off, thank you all so much for the wonderful reception you've given this fic. It's lovely seeing all of your comments and hearing what you think! It's given me so much motivation. I am writing this fic live, so I apologise if updates after this are a bit slow, however. 
> 
> As for this chapter: details about Jon's abilities will be explained later, but for the time being I wanted to have a bit of interaction between him and Agnes. Spam and casserole were both foods popularised in the 1950s, so it's a food both Agnes and Annabelle are familiar with. (Spam isn't that bad as a food, actually, it's just canned pork but I assume it isn't a very good food to eat every meal. It was specifically often served for its convenience but not known for it's taste.) Also, because a friend mentioned it while reading: the stove Agnes uses is a wood stove, she lights the wood inside of it when cooking. 
> 
> Again, thanks so much for reading and all your amazing comments, I hope you liked this chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

From then on, Agnes was a frequent visitor of Hill Top Road. Jon was grateful for her company, and welcomed her affection gladly. However earnest and sincere Annabelle had been, Agnes brought a sense of warmth to the house that the other woman could not. It was sweet, and open. Jon found that he could speak freely with her, tell her things he could not tell Annabelle. 

After all, Agnes had been right. Annabelle was unused to social interaction, even with other Avatars. Decades of devotion to the Web had eliminated the need for it without the sole purpose of manipulation. 

Perhaps in that way Jon had given her a home as well.

No matter how many times Jon walked the hallway to Annabelle’s study, it always felt like being called to the principal’s office. 

It wasn’t the house itself, really, he liked it that fine. But this hallway was far more decorated than the others, giving it an ominous feeling. The old Victorian architecture seemed to loom over him, and the shadows here seemed to increase in number somehow. Jon shuddered involuntarily.

She never let him into the study, no matter how close they had become.

Once, Jon caught a glimpse of the cork board she hid behind the bookshelves and saw pinned to it photographs connected with string. They were suspicious, definitely, and he recognised none of the people pictured. Whatever she did there, she kept it secret from him.

Not that he was unused to it at this point. 

As he drew closer, Jon heard Agnes and Annabelle’s muffled arguing behind the closed door. It was hardly an unusual occurrence, though he knew they tried not to do so in front of him, at least.

“-rely even know him, Annabelle!”

“Yes, well, we don’t exactly have a choice in the matter. You said it yourself, we can’t keep Jon-”

Jon knocked on the door. Almost immediately, the two of them hushed. 

“Come in,” Annabelle called. Some of the usual steadiness in her voice was gone, as if she hadn't been expecting him. He pushed the door open. “Jon, hello. What are you doing here? I didn’t ask for you.”

He shrugged. “I felt a pull. Figured you wanted me here.” 

Sometimes, when Annabelle wanted him to do something Jon would feel the urge himself, inexplicably. Annabelle wasn’t aware of it most of the time, and they both chalked it up as something regarding their connection to the Web. He didn’t mind much, it was usually easier to listen to it rather than ignore it. Though Jon did notice he had been developing the ability to resist it.

Annabelle exchanged a glance with Agnes. “Of course, my apologies. You might as well come in, dear, there’s something we need to talk to you about.”

Jon stepped in and shut the door behind him.

From where she was leaning against the desk, Agnes gave him a tentative smile. “We’ve been going over it, and we think it’d be good for you to get out more. Other than around the neighborhood, I mean.” 

“But?” Jon asked. There was always a catch to these things. Annabelle was always putting precaution after precaution in place to make sure he was safe. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Agnes and I are too… recognisable to be seen with you. We’d risk putting you in danger, and that’s the last thing we’d want.” 

Jon frowned. “Okay.” He thought for a moment. “Is this because you guys are Avatars?”

Agnes stood from her place at the desk and walked over to him. She bent down on one knee, and put a hand on his shoulder. Her wide eyes were searching him again, and Jon could feel her anxiety, see it in the way her mouth was creased downward almost permanently. “Yes, it is. And I’m sorry we can’t be there with you when you go out. But Bell and I have managed to work something out.” 

Out of the corner of his eye Jon saw Annabelle roll her eyes at the nickname. Despite this, she nodded her agreement. “Oliver, you can come in now,” she called. 

The very first thing Jon noticed about Oliver Banks was that he looked tired. He couldn’t have been much older than Agnes (or at least however old she looked). But there were heavy circles under his eyes, and his short, curled hair was already greying. 

But he looked kind. Kind in the way that Agnes was, despite the forces that pulled at her. 

So despite the knowledge that Annabelle and Agnes knew little of him, Jon trusted Oliver almost immediately. 

“You could have just called, you know. I was in the middle of lunch.” 

Annabelle raised an eyebrow. “Would you have come?” 

“Still.” Oliver shrugged through his long black coat. “It’s just polite.”

Jon extended his hand. It couldn’t hurt to introduce himself, he decided. “I’m Jon. A pleasure to meet you.”

The other man looked amused. “Oliver,” he said. His grip was firm, and strangely off-putting, though Jon couldn’t say what about it upset him. “Nice to meet you, too.” 

They were out by the hour, at Jon’s insistence. It’d been so long since he’d gone out to the city, months even, that he couldn’t help but get excited. An entire afternoon to go wherever he wanted in the city? 

Somehow, the day had never looked brighter. 

He fished out a small piece of paper as they walked.

Oliver looked over his shoulder. “What do you have there?” 

“I made a list of the places I wanted to visit outside.”  
“Yeah?” He looked Jon up and down. “Is a clothing store on that list?” Oliver asked. He’d noticed Jon’s old ill-fitting sweater, the one the boy kept picking at.  
Jon grinned sheepishly. It was actually third on his list, right under the bookstore and the sweet shop. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the clothes Annabelle gave me, really…”  
“Right, but?” Oliver looked amused. A smile was twitching at his lips ever-so-slightly. 

“They’re itchy,” Jon explained. “ _All_ the time. And they don’t even fit me! I’d rather wear something more like Agnes’ clothes.”

“Denim, you mean. And t-shirts?”

Jon shrugged. “Maybe? I dunno, just some clothes like everyone else wears.” Agnes had a good sense of fashion, right? Better than what Annabelle had him wear, anyway. “So… yeah. Yeah, like that.”  
“Well, you should’ve just said so! Follow me, I know just the place,” Oliver said with a jerk of his head. 

The small shopkeeper’s bell rang overhead as Jon and Oliver walked into the store. Outside, the streets had been bustling and crowded with people. But no one else was in here from what Jon could see. 

A comfortable silence had settled as music played softly in the background. The shopkeeper gave them a passing nod, which Oliver returned politely. 

“My friend Jane showed me this place, it’s not that far from where I work,” Oliver told Jon. He shoved his hands into his baggy jeans, scanning the shelves. “Nice, right? If you want new clothes, this is a pretty great place to start. What do you think?” 

When he turned, Jon was already rifling through a box of shirts contentedly. They were scattered all over the place, so much so that there was little place to walk in the store. 

Oliver laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.” 

And he kneeled down to help him look.

With the scarcity of customers in the store, they two had no problem finding an empty changing stall. Oliver was at present leaning outside one waiting for Jon to show him his next undoubtedly awful outfit combination.

“Okay, how’s this one?” 

Oliver turned to look and had to stop himself from laughing. “Whoa, kid, those pants are _way_ too big for you.”

“I thought you said that was a good thing!” Jon protested. He took a step, and nearly tripped on the carpet of the floor. 

“Not when they’re falling off your ankles.” He herded Jon back into the changing stall. “Alright, in you go. Try something else.” 

Yeah, Oliver thought as Jon continued complaining even as he tried on another striped shirt. This kid was alright. 

He’d been worried when Annabelle had dragged him into Hill Top Road, and told him of a new Avatar, a child nonetheless. It was no secret that Agnes had been a short-tempered kid in her youth. Rumor had it she’d even killed her own caretaker. Burnt to a crisp. 

Though now that he’d met her Oliver found himself wondering how much the guy had deserved it. In any case, Oliver had been nervous to meet Jon though he thought he’d hid it well. 

But Jon had surprised him. 

By being sweet, and innocent and _good_. God, he was so good. And even without Annabelle’s insistence Oliver would do anything to protect him. 

Again, the bell rang over the door as it swung open. Oliver leaned out of the room instinctively and froze. 

“Shit.”  
Jon frowned. He was halfway through putting on a new pair of pants, and nearly bumped his elbow against the wall of the small changing stall. “What? I haven’t even shown you this outfit.”

“No, not you. What is she even doing here?” Oliver let out a quiet string of curses outside.

“Oliver? What’s going on?” Jon could hear his voice pitching higher as he hurried to get dressed. The prickling feeling at his neck developed into full-blown panic. 

Outside, he could hear Oliver’s muffled words. “Listen, Jon, once I close the door, get out of that stall and go to the end of the hallway. There’s a janitor’s closet there, and I want you to hide until I come get you. And no matter what you hear, do _not_ open the door. Do you understand?”

Jon wracked his brain for what could be going on. Annabelle had assured him that Oliver would be able to take care of him, but what could possibly have him so worried?

“Y-Yeah, but-”

Without further warning the door closed. 

Oliver breathed a sigh of relief as he heard Jon scramble behind the door. Good. 

At least now he didn’t have to worry about the kid while he tried to talk his way out of this. Maybe he could buy some time, deal with her quietly. 

And then he turned around, and found himself face to face with one Gertrude Robinson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! I hope y'all liked this one, Oliver's one of my favorite characters, and I hope this chapter didn't drag out too too much. In reference to the ending, bear with me while I try to get some semblance of a plot in this fic. The next chapter will be a continuation.  
> And yes, the Jane that Oliver briefly mentions here is Jane Prentiss. Sometime between the start of the premonition dreams and becoming a full-fledged Avatar, Oliver apparently worked at a tarot shop with her. I thought it'd be fun to work it in here somewhere.  
> Again you guys have been amazing in your support for this fic, your comments never fail to make me smile. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and once again I hope you liked this chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

Trigger warnings: panic attack, light body horror

The closet where Jon hid was cramped and shadowed, to an almost suffocating degree. It was a kind of darkness that was, strangely, very much unlike Hill Top Road’s, which was welcoming despite its looming energy. No, these shadows were unfamiliar.Twisted.

Like the cocoon from which Jon had emerged all those months ago. 

The thought stuck to him like tar, slowly consuming him. Vaguely, Jon became aware of limbs sprouting from his back. They pushed at the walls that now seemed too tight, too close. And when he opened his mouth to cry out, his words came out as mere hisses and screeching. Tears fell from eyes that weren’t there before.

There were voices outside. Jon flinched as one of them, unknown to him, shouted particularly loudly. He knew he couldn’t go outside, no matter how badly he wanted to.

So he waited. Torturously, endlessly, he waited. As the spiders drew ever closer.

  
  


The door shut behind Oliver. 

At first glance, Gertrude Robinson was nothing like what he had imagined. She was an older woman for one, with a slight build and thin rimmed glasses. The cardigan she was wearing, too, made her look about as intimidating as a kitten. It was hard to imagine her as the woman who had killed so many Avatars and stopped countless rituals. 

But then she looked him straight in the eyes. 

And he realised the color in her hair and her eyes was not grey after all. It was steel.

Nothing could have scared him more.

Oliver tried to move, he really did. But somehow he found himself locked into place, like someone had frozen him indefinitely. 

And then Gertrude was in front of him. “Excuse me, young man. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

He felt himself swallow thickly. She didn’t know who he was, Oliver realized. She thought he was just another regular person. Maybe there was still a way he could turn this around somehow. “Um, sure, yeah. Just give me a second, I need to-”

“ **Now** , if you will.” For an older woman, Gertrude sure could be intimidating when she wanted to be. Oliver shouldn’t have been surprised, but the tone of her voice still made him shiver. “ _ And let’s keep this quiet, shall we? _ Wouldn’t want to disrupt the good folks outside.”

Immediately, his mouth snapped shut. Fuck. There went that plan. Gertrude used her silver tongue to a deadly precision, and now he was hanging off her every word. 

Someone else approached. “Adelard. Is the shopkeeper distracted?” Gertrude asked, though her eyes never left Oliver’s.

“Naturally.” The man peered at him curiously. One of Gertrude’s assistants, probably. “Are you sure this is the right person, Gertrude? He hardly looks like an Avatar.” He shot a glance at the Archivist, a corner of his mouth tilting upwards. “Perhaps you’re getting rusty.”

“Hardly,” she sniffed. “My Sight is never wrong. I’m certain we can get some answers out of him. If not about the missing boy, perhaps about the activity in the area.”

Adelard looked skeptical. “Maybe… I’ll keep watch outside.” 

And just like that, Oliver was alone with Gertrude once more. “You go do that.” To Oliver, she said, “now, first things first.  _ What is your name? _ ”

Oliver had been told what Compelling felt like, of course. Annabelle had made sure he knew everything about the Archivist’s abilities before he’d even left Hill Top Road. Every detail, every technicality, what to do. But experiencing it was a different feeling entirely. 

“Oliver Banks.” The answer was torn from him before he could even form the thought in his head, unraveled like a string from his throat. 

“ _ And do you live here, Oliver? _ ” Figures she’d ask that question. Oliver couldn’t imagine being an Avatar and staying in one place for any length of time. Well, except for Annabelle and Agnes. But they were probably an exception. 

Once again he answered true. “No.”

“Is that so?  _ What brings you to Oxford then? _ ”

Time to put what Annabelle had told him to the test. Deception, the woman had told him, was best achieved with portions of the truth. And that was never truer than with the Beholding. He opened his mouth, and spoke. “Looking after a friend’s kid.”

Oliver let himself take a little satisfaction in the disappointment that crossed Gertrude’s face. “I see.” But the moment passed, and new determination replaced it. She squinted. “ _ Are you an Avatar? _ ”

He was familiar with the label. A servant of the dread fears, one of those who instilled the fear of their Entities for the sole purpose of worship to their gods. “No,” Oliver answered truthfully. A breath of relief escaped him. 

Oliver heard Adelard pipe up from the front of the store. “I told you, Gertrude. It’s not him. He doesn’t look the type, anyway.” 

Gertrude shot him a look. “Yes, alright Dekker. I heard you the first time. But you know as well as I that we can’t afford to judge based on appearance. Perhaps he’s merely marked. Though it would have to be one hell of an impression to mark him so prominently.” Oliver could feel sweat beading at his forehead. Something about the way she was still looking at him made Oliver think he wasn’t quite out of the woods yet. “Remind me again, which Entity did we suspect was involved?” Gertrude asked.    
“The Web. Why, what is it?” 

“Nothing,” she said slowly. “Just a hunch.” The Archivist was silent for some time, turning to look around the store. It might have been Oliver’s imagination, but there seemed to be more spiders here than there had been a few minutes ago. “ _ Where is Annabelle Cane? _ ”

Again the feeling of Compelling overtook him again, but it was different this time. Stronger. Like the string had been replaced with barbed wire, clawing at his throat. It begged desperately to come out.

But it wouldn’t. 

Before Oliver knew what was happening he was on the ground, choking. Someone was saying something, but to his ears it sounded far away and distant. 

“Gertrude, stop. You’ll-”   
“We need information, Adelard. He knows something. If you want me to stop now, perhaps you’re in the wrong field of work.”   
“I don’t want another murder on our hands. You’re going too far-”

“ **Stay out of this.** _Tell me where she is._ ” 

And out of nowhere, he could speak again. But Gertrude’s stare was more piercing, and overbearing. He felt vulnerable. 

Words tumbled out of his mouth and it was almost a relief after everything. “Hill Top Road,” he gasped, on his knees. “She’s at Hill Top Road.”

Adelard and Gertrude exchanged a look. “One of her puppets?” he asked. 

She nodded. “I imagine so.”

Oliver looked up wearily. His head was throbbing like the world’s worst migraine, and he was seeing so many spots he could barely glimpse the two people in front of him. 

“You’d better act quick, Gertrude, I think this one’s fainting.”

“Yes, perhaps I did strain him a little too much.” Oliver’s vision cleared up just enough for him to see Gertrude turn to Adelard. “We’ll have to keep this in mind. It’s been quite some time since either the Web or Hill Top Road were active, and I daresay this could indicate the start of a new ritual. As for you, however…” She peered over her glasses at him. “I think it might be best if you  _ forget this entirely. _ ”

The world went to blissful darkness.

Oliver woke to someone shaking him urgently. God, he felt awful. His head was pounding, like nothing he’d felt before. What happened?

“Oliver? Oliver!” He looked up, still holding his head. The shopkeeper from before was standing over him, with a worried expression. But his eyes were blank now, empty. Filled with black. “What’s going on? I’m scared.”

That was Jon’s voice. 

The realization hit him like a truck, along with everything else that had happened. Oliver was at his feet in an instant, heading to the closet where he’d left Jon. 

The boy was shaking, curled up on the floor, and Oliver felt a pang of guilt for leaving him there alone. Jon looked far worse for wear now, tear stains on his cheeks. His eyes, too, were blank much like the shopkeeper’s. It was enough for Oliver to put together what was going on.

Oliver wiped Jon’s tears away. “Hey, kid.” Jon flinched as he touched him, and he quickly backtracked. “It’s me, Oliver. You remember me, right?” A hesitant nod. “Okay. Okay, alright.” 

“I can’t see, I-I don’t understand. Oliver?” The fear in Jon’s voice was striking.

Oliver leaned down and grabbed hold of Jon’s shoulders, careful not to scare him again. “Listen, I know you’re scared but I’m gonna need you to listen to me. Focus on my voice. I know it’s not a nice place to be, but you need to come back to the closet so we can go home. Can you do that for me?” 

“Y-Yeah, I think so. Don’t let go, okay. Please?” 

“Of course.”

Slowly, color seeped back into Jon’s blackened eyes. His breathing became deeper, and the shaking lessened. Recognition filled him as he finally saw Oliver. 

“You okay?” Oliver asked.

That was all it took for Jon to burst into tears, wrapping his arms around Oliver’s middle tightly. 

“Thank you.” 

Oliver could feel tears dampening his coat as he scooped Jon up. “Of course. I’m glad you’re safe.” And not just because Annabelle would kill him otherwise. “Now, what do you say we get a bag of candy and get back to Hill Top? I think we’ve had enough adventure for today.”   
Jon barely responded, clutching Oliver’s hand with his own as they left. 

They ended up buying two bags of candy, and a pack of Twizzlers on the way. 

Jon only let himself relax again once he was in his bed, staring at the ceiling. Usually, he found the four-poster bed to be uncomfortable, even without the huge amount of pillows surrounding him. But today it felt like the most comfortable thing in the world.

Eventually, Jon drifted off into a fitful sleep. And he didn’t notice a particular spider in the corner, watching his every move intently. 

Downstairs, Annabelle blinked the image of Jon’s bedroom from her eyes, and shook her head. “He’s asleep.” 

“Good.” Across the room, Agnes took off one of her gloves, and lit the cigarette in her mouth. “We don’t need him listening to any more of our conversations. It’ll only make him worry.” 

The other woman nodded. “Indeed.” 

“You guys have a great place here, really,” Oliver said as he entered, “but does there have to be so many spiders?” 

Agnes laughed. “You’re asking an avatar of the Web that?”

“Yes,  _ thank you _ for that, Agnes.” Annabelle sent her a dirty look. “As if you haven’t burned enough of them to death already. And I’d better not get a whiff of cigarette smell when you’re done. Anyhow, that’s not what we’re here to talk about.” She cast her gaze to the would-be End Avatar. “What happened, Oliver?”

“I don’t know.” 

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Annabelle hissed. Already she was looking more on edge, teeth growing sharper. It was an intimidating look, he had to admit. “You’d better have a  **damn** good explana-”   
“Cool it, Anna.” Oliver sent Agnes a grateful look. 

“Pardon?”

Agnes sighed. “I mean let the guy talk before you completely blow it.”

Somehow, it seemed to work. Annabelle took a deep breath before talking again, noticeably calmer this time. “Fine.  _ Please _ elaborate.”

Oliver crossed his arms. “I’m… missing my memory of the past hour or so. I don’t know what happened, and I don’t think Jon would be comfortable telling me right now, but I think something or  _ someone _ erased my memory. The last thing I remember is telling Jon to hide in the back of the store.” 

Annabelle and Agnes exchanged a look. The latter frowned. “No. No, it can’t be her.”   
“There’s no other possible explanation!” Annabelle said. “We knew this was a risk, even living so far from the Institute. It  _ would _ explain the migraines you’ve been having the past couple of weeks…”   
“I’m sorry, am I missing something?” Oliver piped up. He had no idea what had them speaking in such grave tones. 

Annabelle turned to him. “Oliver, do you remember the Avatars I told you about? Particularly the ones connected to the Eye?” 

“We think you ran into Gertrude Robinson.” Agnes interrupted. She blew a large coil of smoke from the cigarette. “She’s one of the only Avatars who can manipulate people’s memories. You probably realized she was a danger to Jon and hid him to protect him. I dunno what she was doing all the way in Oxford, though.”

“She’s the one who works for the Magnus Institute, right? Kills Avatars?”

Annabelle ran her hand through her hair and started pacing. “Yes, but Gertrude wouldn’t do that to Jon. For God’s sake, he’s 9! She might be an Avatar, but she still has enough humanity in her to know that he’s innocent.”

“We can’t be sure of that. Did you hear what she did to that kid, Emma? That was her own assistant.”

Oliver was beginning to feel very lost. And very tired. “Right. Um, listen. Not that I’m not worried about Jon and all this, but…” Both women turned to him suddenly. “I might just head home right now, if that’s alright with you. A lot’s happened.”

Annabelle blinked. She seemed surprised at his request. More so, he thought, than she should be. “Right, of course. Yes, that’s alright. Thank you again for everything today.”

“Okay. I’ll, uh, give you guys a call when I’m feeling better I guess. Let me know when Jon’s alright?”

Agnes smiled weakly. “Yeah, sure. Bye.” 

Oliver didn’t spare a glance backwards as he shut the door firmly behind him, though he had a feeling he’d be back at Hill Top Road soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, this chapter was a toughie to write. Lots going on in this one and it took a while, but I hope you guys liked it! There is another interaction between Agnes and Annabelle that was supposed to be tagged on at the end of this, but I figured this one was long enough as is.  
> However! That does mean there should probably be an update in a couple days.  
> In case it wasn't clear, Gertrude is indeed investigating Jon's disappearance this chapter. The bully from the A Guest For Mr. Spider episode witnessed everything and went to the Magnus Archives afterwards to give a statement.
> 
> Many of you were rightfully scared for Jon after last chapter's cliffhanger, it's been amazing reading your reactions. As always, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!


	5. Chapter 5

Agnes waited until Oliver left the room to turn back to Annabelle. “Let me guess, you’re calling him back in a week?” 

“I’ll give him two. We both know how demanding it is dealing with the Archivist,” she remarked. 

The other woman shrugged. Agnes cursed as the cigarette she was holding turned to ash in her hands and shook them loose. “You didn’t expect Jon to cut the strings on Oliver, did you?” she asked, grabbing another one. 

“No. Certainly not.” Annabelle thought back to the renewed clarity in Oliver’s eyes, now that he was free of her control. It had been surprising, to say the least. “His abilities are developing far faster than I had anticipated. But… perhaps it’s for the best.”

“Why? Because Jon likes him?”

“I felt Gertrude’s compelling, Agnes.” The other woman watched her warily as she spoke. Rarely was Annabelle so shaken, even from an interaction with another Avatar. “ _Through_ him. I was looking and suddenly my own spiders were looking back. I’ve never felt anything like that before. Every time I think I know exactly what she can do…” She looked truly chilled.

But that wasn’t all they were here to talk about. Agnes knew full well how the Web avatar usually treated the people she manipulated. “So you were just going to let him die if Jon hadn’t done something, huh? Is that it?” 

“We’ve been over this Agnes, Jon’s safety is most important.” Annabelle sighed, as if only marginally put off by what they were discussing. As if Oliver’s life wasn’t hanging in the balance. Agnes found that she didn’t like it.   
“Yeah, I know. That’s what you say every fucking time…” she scoffed. “But it’s not fair.”   
“ _Nothing_ about this is fair. He needs to learn that. Both of them.” 

Well. That was that. Agnes knew better by now than to continue arguing with Annabelle. It was pointless. Once the woman made her mind up about something, there was no changing it. 

They stayed there in mutual silence, for a while. The quietness was palpable tonight, and there was much to think about.

Annabelle was the one who spoke first. “Hand me one of those, would you?” she asked, gesturing to the cigarette box with one of her many hands. 

“I thought you didn’t want any smoke in the study.” Agnes passed one over with her gloved hand.

She raised an eyebrow. “I don’t. And I’m still holding you to that, by the way.” She nodded to the door. “There’s room for two.”  
They made their way out, where the balcony overlooked the neighbourhood. Cold night air swept over them, leaving Agnes’ auburn hair billowing like a curtain. It outlined her profile starkly. “Mm. You must _really_ be stressed, huh?” she asked, leaning over the railing. Agnes could hardly remember a time when Annabelle had taken a smoke, despite however often she herself took them. 

“Yes, _excellent_ deduction, detective. Give me a light, would you?” 

The redhead lifted a hand, and in a quick movement lit the cigarette between Annabelle’s lips. Agnes met her eyes. “It won’t kill us, you know. Barely anything can, much less a fucking cigarette.”

“Still. It doesn’t set a good example for Jon,” Annabelle sniffed. “We don’t know if he’s human enough for it to hurt him.”

A bitter scoff. “Yeah, another one for the list.” Agnes exhaled deeply and let thick smoke escape her pale lips. 

“I know. There’s so much we don’t know about this, and there’s only two of us to protect him. And Oliver, I suppose.” The worry over Jon the two of them shared had been worsening, in Annabelle especially. It was surprising to say the least, given her usual tendencies. 

“But it doesn’t have to be like that.”

Annabelle turned. “What?”

“I mean-” Agnes pursed her lips. “Look, some of the others wouldn’t be _entirely_ against helping protect Jon. If they met him, maybe…”

The Web avatar rolled her eyes. “As if. Oliver was terrified enough to help, and that’s only because he’s not a full Avatar. The only reason he came at all is because I _made_ him.” Typical. She’d always been quick to judge. Soft moonlight lit up the creased frown on Annabelle’s face.

Already Agnes could feel her cheeks heating up. “I’m serious! Look, I can work on convincing Jude, and maybe Nikola…” she shrugged. 

“Look at you, ever the optimist.”

“Hey!” she protested.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing.” Agnes was silent at that. “Maybe you’re right, we could definitely use the help. Especially with the Archivist running around.” Her nose wrinkled.

“Yeah… I mean, we can’t do any worse than the Lightless Flame, right? At least we’re giving him a choice.” She smiled humorlessly. 

A strange look came across Annabelle’s face, and for a moment she said nothing. And then, quietly, “I’m sorry about that.”

Agnes shrugged. It was useless to question how Annabelle knew what had happened, where she’d gotten the information from. The Web cared little for the feelings of who it manipulated. And it never apologized. “Don’t be. I killed enough of those bastards on my way out to make up for it. Besides, it wasn’t all bad.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Sometimes. She’s familiar.” The question of who _she_ was remained unanswered. Agnes had confided in Annabelle enough times that they both knew there was only one woman she’d let get close to her before. “Surprisingly romantic too. But it was hard to tell if that devotion was to the cult or…” She trailed off. 

Annabelle leaned back on the balcony railing to look at her. “I wouldn’t object to you talking to Jude, I hope you know that. Just because you’re staying here doesn’t mean you have to cut ties with her forever. You’re not one of my puppets.”

“No, I don’t think I can. Not yet, anyway. Not until I know for sure that she won’t be a danger to Jon. The last time we talked, well, she made it _very_ clear what she thought about him. I appreciate the sentiment, though.” Agnes was aware of how hard it was, as an Avatar of the Web, to let things move out of her control. Especially if they were people. 

“Mm.”

They lapsed back into silence. Oxford, Annabelle found, was a quiet little city. Being on the outskirts of it meant there was little disturbance at night. It was dark too, save for the small halos of light from the other houses’ porch lights.

“I’m heading back to bed. Too much,” Agnes waved her cigarette around in the air. “Thinking this late at night. And it’s been a long day.” She let the cigarette turn to ash and watched them scatter in the air. “Check up on Jon when you go up, would you? Make sure he’s not having any nightmares again.”  
Annabelle nodded. “Of course. Goodnight, Agnes.”

“‘Night.” And without another word she disappeared into the house. 

  
  


It was a long time until Annabelle herself went up to bed. She found it remarkably easy to get lost in the calm of the night, especially after a hard day, and by the time she left the balcony two more cigarettes had made it into the ashtray. The loneliness was comforting, though of course she would never admit it out loud. Couldn’t have anyone thinking she was straying from her own fear. Nevertheless, the sun had long gone by the time she left, and the sky had become nearly pitch black in its darkness. It seemed almost weary to her, clouds eclipsing even the moon high above. 

She started up the stairs. The spiders were restless at this time, scurrying all over. Annabelle briefly contemplated sending a few to Agnes’ room as she let one weave its webs across her fingers, but eventually decided against it. She needed the rest. They all did.

But when she reached the top of the stairs, a series of sounds from Jon’s room stopped her dead in her tracks. 

Annabelle blinked, and switched her vision to the spider she kept posted in the corner of his room. 

Jon was still in bed, sleeping. But when she let her gaze linger for a moment longer, she realized he was curled in on himself, face twisted in pain. 

She cleared the sight from her mind and opened the door. Jon’s nightmares were not an uncommon occurrence, Annabelle was well aware. She’d found him in the middle of one many times, and had simply sent a spider to wake him. But it didn’t feel right. To leave him without comfort after everything that had happened.

Annabelle reached out and shook him gently. Jon gasped awake, still breathing hard. 

All six eyes turned to squint at her. “Annabelle?” he asked, frowning. It was only his inhuman vision that saved him from screaming in fright, though his heart was still racing. “Wh-What are you…”

She sat down beside him on the bed. Her heels clattered on the floor as she took them off. “You were having a nightmare, darling. I wanted to check in on you. I know it’s been… rough these couple of months. Today most of all.” Annabelle paused. “Is that okay with you?”  
Jon wiped the tears from his eyes and nodded. His extra eyes faded until only two were left. Like this he seemed almost a normal boy to her, scared and alone. “Yeah, it’s fine.” He smiled, without fangs. “It’s good to have you here.

Annabelle let the boy lean into her, vaguely aware of how uncomfortable the pillow behind her felt against her hair sprayed curls. 

She had always been one to choose her words carefully. Even before becoming an Avatar, Annabelle had made words her craft. Twisting them, filling them with nuance to persuade whoever she talked to. It had become almost second nature to her. 

But now Annabelle spoke freely. “I’m sorry Agnes and I weren’t there with you today.” She felt Jon shift beside her, nestling closer. “We promised we’d do everything we could to protect you, but even still… To have your abilities manifesting so young must be so frightening for you, Jon. It’s alright to be scared of that.” 

“Is it?” Jon’s voice wavered as he spoke. “I- Isn’t the point of us to _create_ that fear? What kind of Avatar am I if I was-” He was crying again, and Annabelle couldn’t help but feel she’d done something wrong.

She reached up and cupped his cheek. “No. No, dearest, it’s alright. Fear is what _makes_ us so strong, it’s only right that we feel it as well. I’m only sorry I can’t take it away from you.” Annabelle paused. “But I _can_ help lessen it.”   
“What do you mean?” he asked. 

“Jon,” she said, looking into his eyes. “I think it’s about time that I teach you how to control your abilities. Are you alright with that?”

Jon’s brow furrowed. “Will that… help me protect myself? And you, and Oliver, and Agnes?”

For the second time that day, Annabelle felt a surge of love and worry, intertwined, for him. “Yes. Yes, it will.” 

“Then I’ll do it.” He settled back down into the bed, pressed up to her tightly. “When do we start?” 

“Later.” Annabelle combed her fingers through his hair, tangled once again. She made a note to buy a better hairbrush for him. “For now, try to get some rest. You must be tired.”

He nodded, blinking sleepily. “Mmkay. Can you stay? I, uh, know you’re busy, but-”

“I’ll stay. It’s alright.”

And as they stayed there, curled up against each other, Annabelle was surprised to hear her own little lullaby forming. Jon didn't seem to mind, shifting ever-so-slightly against her as she began to sing. 

Annabelle stayed there all night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, this chapter ended up being even longer than the last one. I realised this fic's severely lacking in Jon and Annabelle content, so I hope you enjoyed that little interaction. I sometimes find Agnes and Annabelle difficult to write given the sparse characterisation we get of them in canon, so I hope they're distinguishable enough as I write them. I imagine the song Annabelle sings at the end of the chapter is Lonely Spider by Lhasa de Sela.
> 
> Have a meme, courtesy of my discord conversation with @Bare1yThere  
> agnes: screaming because there's spiders all over the place and her entire room is filled with webs  
> annabelle: òÒòwóÓó
> 
> Lastly, thanks again for all your comments! I don't respond because I'd feel guilty about not answering all of them, but I do read every last one. The next chapter might feature a few more familiar faces, and maybe a trip to the circus 🤡


	6. Chapter 6

Jon was fiddling with his radio when Agnes knocked on his door. Since Annabelle had bought it for him, all those months ago, he’d moved it into his own room where it usually rested on his dresser. But now it was lying on the floor where Jon was sprawled out in front of it.

“Whatcha doin’ there, kiddo?” Agnes asked, leaning against the doorframe. She was wearing a miniskirt today, coupled with a black choker.

Jon scrambled to cover the tape recorder beside him. “Nothing! Just listening to the radio, that’s all. Promise!” Agnes looked unconvinced. He pouted. “Fine, I was trying to get the tape recorder to work. I’m, erm, trying to record a cassette tape for you and Annabelle.”

A rare smile stretched across Agnes’ face. “Really? That’s sweet of you, Jon. I hope you’re planning on recording separate tapes for both of us, though. We do have very  _ different _ music tastes.”

Jon straightened his skewed glasses. “Yeah, of course. I mean, Oliver only bought me two of them when we went to the music shop the other day, but… I wanted to do something nice.”

“Aw, I know.” Jon scrunched his nose as Agnes ruffled his hair. She pulled him into a hug. “We love you too, kiddo. So you don’t mind if I, uh…” Agnes reached behind him and Jon frowned. What was she doing? “Aha!” 

Before he knew what was happening, Agnes was triumphantly holding up the cassette tape with her name on it. 

“Noooo, Agnes! It’s not done yet, give it back!” 

She stuck her tongue out and held it just out of his reach. “Sure, if you can catch it.” Jon focused and suddenly a bunch of spiders were dropping on her. Agnes yelped. “Ah! Alright, alright, have your tape back. Little rascal.”

A call came from downstairs, distinctly Annabelle’s voice. “Agnes! You better not be playing around again.”

“Ah, right.” Agnes looked sheepish. Slowly, her hand dropped and she tossed the cassette tape back to him. “Better head down, Jon. Annabelle’s been calling. We have another visitor today.”

“Not Oliver?” They were meeting in a week or so, but this wouldn’t be the first time Oliver had ‘kidnapped’ him for a spontaneous trip into town. Annabelle had nearly strangled him the first time it had happened. 

“Jon!” Another call, this time decidedly less patient. 

“Nah, not today. Pop down quick, yeah?”

“Okay.” Jon gathered up his things, sliding the tapes and the recorder underneath his bed. Immediately a number of spiders started webbing it up. He cast a glance at Agnes over his shoulder as he left. “And, uh-” 

“I won’t tell Annabelle, don’t worry,” she winked. “Now go on, get going. Before she kills us  _ both _ .”

Jon heard Nikola’s voice before he saw her. It was high-pitched and lilting, like the sound of a violin from afar. “-ll _as_ you know, the Circus has been doing _absolutely lovely_ recently. We’re _even_ thinking of doing _a ritual_ in the next year or so,” she was saying. 

There was a clatter of a teacup being placed on a saucer. “So I hear.” Annabelle’s voice was cool and level as ever, a striking contrast to Nikola’s own. “It’s been quite a while since one of those, hasn’t it?”

Jon peered down at the two through the stair railings. At almost 6’5, Nikola made an almost comical sight sitting at their dining table. Her legs were disproportionately long, bending at odd angles to fit underneath. Jon wasn’t entirely sure they were anatomically correct. 

Annabelle noticed him. “Jon, there you are! Come on down, darling, Nikola’s here.” 

He waved tentatively at the clown, whose ‘face’ twisted into something resembling a smile. Jon would be terrified if he hadn’t seen it before. “ _ Hello, _ Spiderling! It’s  _ lovely  _ to see you again.”

“Um, yeah, you too,” he mumbled. It was strange, Jon thought, that Annabelle was asking him to join the conversation. Usually when other Avatars visited Hill Top Road, it resulted in hushed discussions kept far away from him.

So why was this different?

Annabelle and Nikola share a look. It was quiet and unreadable, much like the ones Annablle and Agnes sent each other. 

He took a seat. 

“Annabelle’s  _ just  _ been telling me about the  _ wonderful abilities _ you’ve been manifesting!” The eye holes in Nikola’s mask squinted cheerfully. “ _ She _ tells me you’re becoming  _ quite _ the puppeteer!” 

Jon averted his eyes from her mismatched ones. The two of them had been working on controlling his abilities recently, though it was proving difficult with spiders as their only test subjects. “I guess so. But I haven’t had much practice, I don’t want to hurt anyone.” 

Annabelle took a sip of her tea. “That’s what she’s here to talk to you about.”

“ _Yes!_ ” Nikola’s hands clicked as she clapped. “ _I’d_ like to make you a _proposition_ of sorts! I and the others _of the Stranger_ have a _circus_ a little ways away from here. _If you’d_ _like,_ we could help you.” 

Jon reached out and took a chocolate biscuit from the tray in the middle of the table. “How?” 

“I’m  _ so glad  _ you asked, little one! We of _ the Stranger _ -” She wrenched her right arm from its socket abruptly, and Jon watched as it went limp in her hand. Annabelle looked entirely unphased. “-don’t feel  _ pain! _ Not  _ physically, _ at least. And I’m  _ sure _ one of my friends would be  _ delighted _ to let you practice with them.” 

He looked to Annabelle, who nodded at him encouragingly. “I, uh… That sounds good.” Jon smiled. “I’d like that, I think.” Maybe,  _ finally, _ he could take another step to actually understanding who (or what) he was. Nikola seemed to be excited by the prospect, at the very least. 

“Fantastic!” 

Annabelle stood up beside her, dusting herself off. “It’s settled then. Agnes went upstairs to pack your things, she really should be done by now.” She took out a small pocket watch. It was only then that Jon noticed she wasn’t wearing her usual polka-dotted dress, but a pair of trousers and suspenders. 

“I heard that, Anna.” Agnes was standing at the top of the staircase, holding an old suitcase and a travel bag. “Had to pack our stuff too, you know. Gotta be prepared.” She too had changed into a more practical outfit, jeans and a bomber jacket. Her long hair was tied up in a messy ponytail. 

Annabelle hummed. “Yes, I suppose so. We  _ are _ going to the Pacific Ocean.”

“Wait, hold on, what? You guys aren’t coming?” Jon couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. He’d thought they were all going to the Circus together. 

“Nah, got some business to take care of. Oliver’s got himself into trouble again.” Agnes bit her lip and Jon was surprised to see that she looked genuinely worried. He didn’t know much of what the pseudo-avatar got up to, but sometimes Agnes and Annabelle had to talk to him. The look disappeared and she smiled at him. He could tell it wasn’t entirely genuine. “We’d just spoil your fun, anyway. You’re in good hands with Nikola, she’s a helluva lot more powerful than either of us are. Older, too.”

Nikola’s neck seemed to snap as she turned to look at Agnes. “How  _ rude!” _

“We’ll all be there on performance night, don’t worry,” Annabelle spoke up. “Once we sort everything out.”

“But why are you going all the way to the ocean? What happened?” They weren’t telling him anything again. Jon knew he should be used to it by now, after these years, but Agnes and Annabelle’s worry this time was palpable, stirring in the air. Something was wrong. “A-Are you guys just dumping me on Nikola?” 

Annabelle sighed, and bent down to cup his face. “You’re far too smart for your own good, you know that?” Jon stayed silent. “We’ll tell you everything when we get back.  _ If _ Oliver’s okay with it.”   
“Okay. How long am I staying with Nikola?” 

“A couple days at most, kiddo.” Agnes swept him into a hug. “We promise.”

He nodded and wiped at his eyes, hugging her back. “Okay.” 

Nikola, as it turned out, had a car. A tiny little Volkswagen Beetle, so small he wondered how she’d be able to fit into it. But she did. Though looking at her in the driver’s seat gave him a headache like the static that sometimes invaded his radio. 

“ _ Right then! _ Next stop, the  _ Circus _ of the Other.” As they drove off Jon looked out the back window and watched Annabelle and Agnes waving back at him as they disappeared in the distance. It would be fine, he told himself. They would all be there at the Circus, safe. 

But when he next saw Oliver, he would be different, changed by what had happened. And he would never be the same again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all it's been forever, I'm so sorry... The conversation with Nikola got away from me for the longest time. Not many notes for this chapter except that Nikola's an absolute delight to write, especially with the way she talks. She's such a vibrant character and I love her so much. 
> 
> That being said, thanks again for your comments! They definitely help keep me going. I'm sorry for everyone who was hoping they would all take a family trip to the circus lmao  
> Next chapter will be more of the Circus of the Other and the one after will be dealing with what exactly Oliver's gotten himself into this time, because the more I write this fic the more I want to explore Jon's trio of guardians.


	7. Chapter 7

The Circus of the Other was strange in that from the outside, it looked like any other circus. With a tall striped tent and blinding spotlights, it seemed impossible to completely ignore. If Jon hadn’t known its true nature, he would have been fooled too. 

“Amazing,  _ isn’t it?” _ Nikola flashed him a grin with far too many teeth than should be in her mouth. She was enthusiastic as ever, though Jon supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. Not all Avatars had the same level of empathy as Annabelle, Agnes, and Oliver, after all. Still, he found that her cheer was comforting right now. He couldn't keep thinking about Oliver, there wasn’t anything he could do right now. Best to just focus on his time with Nikola. 

Jon nodded. “It’s, uh, something.” 

Nikola parked her car near the trailers beside the circus, and they went inside. 

The interior of the tent was dark, dimly lit, and the torches on the wooden supports didn’t quite reach the top of the tent. As a result Jon couldn’t quite see where it ended, a hanging darkness where the roof of it should be. It sent shivers down his spine. It was just a tent, right? There couldn’t be anything else there. Still the possibility clung to the back of his mind and refused to leave. 

He’d heard lofty circus music from afar as they had approached the tent, but now it seemed discordant somehow, an unsettling tone laced into the notes.

A wide range of performers seemed to be practicing in front of them, all with varying degrees of apparent humanity. Some seemed almost entirely plastic like Nikola, doll-like bodies failing to perfectly mimic human expressions. Others could have been human themselves if Jon hadn’t known any better. One of the performers in particular caught his eye, a juggling fire eater. She wore a frilled yellow collar and a red corset that drew into a laced skirt. But as one of the on-fire pins fell into her hand she fumbled it, and the well-crafted disguise began to melt away as she caught on fire. It fell in clumps to the ground.

Jon gasped involuntarily. Slowly, her head turned to face him at the sound, flesh dripping all the while though her smile remained. She waved.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and flinched. 

_ “You _ can just put your bag over  _ there, _ spiderling!” Nikola didn’t seem to notice his discomfort, making a sweeping gesture to the circus grandstand at the side. “I  _ hope you don’t mind, _ but I’ll have to find one of my  _ friends! _ He seems to be  _ missing, _ poor thing.” 

Jon barely had time to nod yes before she took off, towering over the performers as they parted. He went to put his suitcase against the tent wall. 

“Well, well. Look what we have here,” a rumbling voice said from behind him. Jon jumped and turned to see two of the performers, a pair of strongmen, looming over him. “Did you get lost,”

“Little one?” the other finished. They both had strong Cockney accents, the strength of which made them seem faked. “This ain't the place for a kid like you, I’d wager.”

Jon swallowed thickly. This was fine, he just had to explain who he was. But it was getting harder and harder to keep his cool with the two of them staring at him like that. “Um, a-actually, my name is-”

_ “Jon!” _ Nikola interrupted. She was walking over to them, with a man dressed like a tin soldier in tow. Jon could have fainted in relief. “Boys, I wouldn’t  _ touch this one _ if I were you! He’s  _ Annabelle’s  _ kid. And we wouldn’t want to bother her, now  _ would we?” _ Nikola’s head tilted sharply to one side, her threatening grin growing impossibly wider. Some of the other performers were watching now too, drawn by the commotion.

The two strongmen backed off immediately.

Jon could’ve sworn they almost looked sheepish, expressions shifting from threatening to guilty. “Right. Of course, our apologies. Had no,” began one.

“Idea, honest,” ended the other. “Thought he’d just wandered in here by ‘imself.” He turned to Jon, now far more passive. “The name’s Breekon.”

“And Hope. We’re strongmen around these parts,” he muttered. “Welcome to the Circus. Hope you enjoy yourself here.” Jon blinked. 

Was that a joke? Before he could ask the two shuffled off with a tip of their caps, making their way to the exit. How odd. They walked with an odd sort of synchrony, step in step with each other.

He and Nikola watched them go before she turned to him.  _ “Well! _ I do  _ hope _ they didn’t scare you  _ too much, _ spiderling!” She clasped her hands together. 

Jon shook his head. “Not too much, I think,” he lied. “Just surprised me that’s all.”

_ “There’s  _ a good boy. I’d like to  _ introduce you _ to another performer here.” She stepped aside, and from behind her long tailed coat a young man appeared. The tin soldier, Jon remembered. Like Nikola he had red blush applied in a bright circle, and a doll-like appearance to him. He wore a red military jacket and white trousers, with a black military cap. “This is  _ Daniel! _ He’s been here for  _ quite _ a while as our tightrope walker and  _ trapeze artist, _ so he should be fine working with you.” 

Daniel extended a hand robotically, a smile painted onto his face. “It’s good to meet you!”

Jon shook it tentatively. “Um, yeah, you too. I’m Jon.” He couldn’t quite place it but there was something off in Daniel, in a way it wasn’t with the rest of the performers. His stare bore in too deeply, and when Jon shook his hand the grip was tight and vice-like. Almost as if he was using him to anchor himself. Jon let go of his hand. 

_ “Right then!” _ Nikola clapped the two of them on their shoulders. “I’ll leave  _ you two _ to get acquainted.  _ Perhaps _ you can even put on a  _ little act _ together.”

She left, leaving Jon and Daniel alone. 

Daniel turned to Jon, and looked him up and down. He crossed his arms. “You don’t…  _ look _ like the type who usually comes here,” he said finally. 

“I’m, uh, not. I’m part of the Web, actually.” 

“I see.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re not staying then, I suppose?” Daniel looked almost sad to say it, in a way that made Jon nervous.

“No. I mean, I don’t think so? My, uh…” What  _ was _ he supposed to call Annabelle and Agnes?  _ “Guardians _ just sent me to stay here for a couple days.”

Daniel clapped. “Oh! That does make sense, we just don’t get visitors here often.” He laughed, humorlessly.

“Right…” Jon wasn’t sure what that meant, and not knowing scared him, just a little. “When, uh, when did you start travelling with the circus? And how did you end up travelling with them? If you don't mind me asking, I mean.”

“About three years now, I think. It’s been a while.” Daniel turned and looked away.His voice seemed to echo in Jon’s ears, empty of emotion. It was as if a switch had gone off in him. And when Jon looked into his eyes, the light in them seemed to have gone. They were so hollow now. “As for how I met them…”

“Listen, I’m sorry if I said something wrong. I mean, I didn’t mean to-”   
And just like that, Daniel seemed fine again. As if nothing had happened in the first place. “Of course not! I’m happy to answer your questions.”

Jon didn’t mention it again.

It was far later when Nikola sent someone to take Jon to his tent. He and Daniel had been talking and putting together the beginnings of a circus act long into the evening, so Jon was surprised when a fire-eater came up and tapped him on the shoulder. 

Daniel frowned. “Already? But we were getting so much done!” Jon found that he had been enjoying Daniel’s company as well, despite his strangeness. He was a genuinely friendly person, and a very easy person to talk to. 

“He needs sleep, Danny. Jon isn’t like us, remember?” The woman pointed out. She wore the same costume as the other fire-eater he’d seen before, but was darker-skinned and had orange dyed hair. 

“Mmh, I forgot that. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Jon. Get a good night’s rest!” 

Jon smiled. “Yeah, sure. Thanks for working with me.” 

“It was my pleasure!” Daniel waved as he walked off, and Jon went his separate way with the other performer.

It was dark out already, and the dim blue of the sky had turned the tent’s surroundings into silhouettes. The fire-eater held out an old oil lamp and beckoned for Jon to follow her. 

Crickets were singing somewhere. 

Jon was thankful to have a guide, at least, to navigate the circus grounds. From what he could tell, they were a long, winding maze of a place, with trailers and tents pitched everywhere. He could hardly keep up with the woman in front of him. 

“So, um,” he began. “I didn’t know there were more of you here. Fire-eaters, I mean. There was another woman I saw earlier, but…”

“There aren’t,” she interrupted. In the lamplight he saw her look back at him over her shoulder. Familiar greenish-grey eyes stared back. “There’s just me.” He remembered those eyes, burning at him as the rest of her face had melted away. “Between you and me, I like this skin much better.” She laughed, as if she’d just told a funny joke. 

Jon was saved from responding as they arrived at his tent. He lugged the heavy suitcase inside and waved her goodnight, stuffing it into a corner.

Agnes had packed him a sleeping bag and a pair of pajamas. And as he changed and settled in for the night, Jon had to wonder how Agnes and Annabelle were doing, and if Oliver was safe. The thought kept him awake for hours longer, as spiders too found their home in the sleeping bag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breekon and Hope did indeed briefly work as strongmen for the Circus of the Other if I remember correctly, though they apparently left because Nikola proved to be too unpredictable. In the same episode Breekon mentions that the performers in the trope often switched faces like clothes. And yes, the Daniel here is Tim's younger brother Danny remade in the Stranger's image. 
> 
> I'm so glad you all liked the way I wrote Nikola! It means a lot to me that you all enjoyed the last chapter.


	8. Chapter 8

Annabelle wasn’t entirely sure why, instead of staying in the bridge of the boat, Agnes chose to stay on the deck.

But then again, she didn’t pretend to know what the Desolation Avatar thought, even now. 

Still, through the rain-streaked window overlooking the rest of the ship Annabelle could see the rain beginning to pour down at full force. 

Annabelle opened the door. A gust of cold wind hit her fully as she did so, and she wrinkled her nose. “Agnes!” she called. “Come inside, it’s getting rough out there.”

Agnes obliged, turning as the camel hair coat she wore whipped around her. 

The door shut firmly behind her. Small coils of steam rose from her coat as she shook it dry. “Jesus, Ollie’s got himself in some deep shit this time, hasn’t he? I mean, I knew he was…” Her brow pinched.  _ “Having trouble _ again, but I never imagined it was anything like  _ this.” _ She gestured outside, where pieces of debris littered the ocean around the ship. 

The scene there looked like a fisherman’s nightmare. They’d been sailing for weeks now, and had found the trail an hour ago. Despite that, neither of them had seen any survivors of the wreckage, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to stay optimistic.

Annabelle found she had to agree with Agnes’ statement. The very fact that they’d had to go this far out, to the middle of the ocean of all places, spoke to the severity of the situation. She had never known Oliver to be one to take such drastic action. But then again, he was being manipulated by something far greater than himself now. 

Speaking of which… 

“Agnes.” 

“Mm?”   
She took a breath and chose her words carefully. “We both know what this means.” That caught the other woman’s attention. Agnes looked at her, though Annabelle refused to meet her eye. “Something went wrong here, that much is obvious. And I very much doubt that Oliver meant for this much destruction. At least, not as we know him. If… If he  _ has _ finally given himself to the End, as we always knew he would, it’s very possible that he won’t be willing to associate with us any longer. And  _ if _ that’s the case-” 

Agnes’ jaw clenched. “I know,” she interrupted.

“I’m merely saying that we  _ need _ to be prepared. And if Oliver becomes hostile we need to act first.”   
**“Just. Keep. Steering.”**

Agnes rarely grew angry. Even during their arguments, whenever she raised her voice there was no anger in it, only frustration and a deep desire to be heard. (If Annabelle was still her old self she would have analyzed that instinct and twisted it to her own advantage.) But on the few occasions that she  _ did _ grow angry, there was a burning ember in her eye, simmering inwardly. And Annabelle knew better than to stoke that fire.

“We both made a promise to protect Jon. At  _ any _ cost. Just remember that.”

They said nothing more for the rest of the trip. 

Annabelle felt it before she saw anything. A deep, insidious feeling that seemed to reach inside her chest and clutch at her very heart. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this fear, certainly not since she’d taken her own patron. But the name was clear in her head. The End. Terminus.

Where not ten minutes ago the rain had been pelting but steady it was now harsh, bitter and resentful. Restless, scowling clouds grew thick in the air, smothering all traces of light. It was as if the sky itself was grieving in anger. And Annabelle knew who it mourned.

Agnes saw his body first. Once she pointed it out, Annabelle had to wonder how she’d ever missed it. 

Impossibly dark, writing tendrils surrounded Oliver, looking like they were both supporting and strangling him at once. A creature of the depths, reborn in his image. 

She’d always loved a good eldritch tale.

“Lower me down,” Agnes called over the howling wind. She was already at the small rowboats suspended at the side of the ship. “I’m going to get him.” That sure resilience was back in full force as she pulled at the frayed ropes.

And Annabelle obliged. 

Oliver wasn’t breathing, that much was apparent when they finally got him onto the deck. His dark skin had already grown cold and clammy, the sure grip of death apparent on his face. Agnes was checking for a pulse anyway. 

She was pulling at his coat, and Annabelle reached out to take her arm. “He’s gone, Agnes. There’s nothing we can do for him now.” 

Slowly, she let Annabelle pull away from his corpse. Agnes nodded. “Okay.  _ Okay.” _ She looked about to cry, face scrunched and eyes dewing over. Annabelle was unsurprised. She herself gave her love sparingly, in pieces to those she deemed deserved it. An essential trait in manipulation, and even as a child she had understood the importance of being wary. But Agnes had never learnt such things. She had only ever been known as a saviour or a weapon, never as a person. Never loved selflessly. Agnes always took and gave love in every form without thinking of it, something Annabelle had never understood when it hurt her so often. 

The tears in her eyes sizzled and evaporated before they even left, leaving only thin trails of smoke as evidence of their existence. She stepped back. 

And then something stirred. Not Oliver, per say, not quite. But rather the long tendrils on him that seemed to grow bigger with every passing second. They were slowly making their way up his body, and Annabelle could see them covering the skin under his coat where Agnes had just felt. 

“Get back,” She ordered. 

She pushed Agnes behind her to face what had become of Oliver. In a matter of seconds his body had become a mass of twisting darkness.

The Web, Annabelle had often thought in those early years when she had first become an Avatar, was an odd Entity in the power it gave. The Mother often favored subtle manipulation, the twisting of will and thoughts, yes, but she was not above physical control either. 

Annabelle began to weave around him. 

A sudden heat on her shoulder broke her concentration. She turned to see Agnes’ wide eyes staring back, terrified. Her right-hand glove was off, and her hand was red hot. From the look on her face Agnes hadn’t meant to burn her so badly, but there was no regret there either, only shock. Annabelle didn’t know what to make of it.

She was just about to say something when Oliver beat her to it. “W-Where am I?” His voice seemed to echo amongst the fog of the ship, as multitudes. In the time that she had looked away the tendrils surrounding him had retreated, leaving him alone. The newly-made Avatar clutched his head, curls plastered to his skin. But even still nothing of his appearance had changed. His skin had kept the purple hue in most places, a permanent mark of what had happened.

The End often kept its Avatars close to it. 

“Annabelle? Agnes? What happened?” 

Agnes was the one to pipe up. “We’re at Point Nemo. The Pacific Ocean. You called us here, Oliver, remember?” she asked softly. She stood up behind Annabelle, still keeping her distance. 

There was silence. And then, slowly, “yeah. Yeah, I think I remember that.” Oliver lifted his head to look around them. “I did this, didn’t I? Killing everyone on that ship. Does that mean I’m…”

“An Avatar of the End now? Yes.” Annabelle didn’t see the point of beating around the bush. She noticed Agnes frown at the blunt response. “I’m afraid so.”

“Do you feel any different?” Agnes asked. “At all?” There was a tremor in her voice, ever-present as she spoke. Full of naive hope. 

Oliver shook his head. “I feel cold. And I have a headache, a little, but-”

And then Agnes was hugging him. Annabelle hadn’t even seen her move but suddenly she was wrapping herself around Oliver, perhaps a little harder than she should hug someone who had been dead ten minutes ago. 

Annabelle’s quiet “we’re glad you’re alright,” seemed to pale in comparison. But she had never been very good with these things.

Finally, Agnes drew back. “You really are cold,” she breathed, feeling at his forehead. 

“Cold as death?” Annabelle asked. 

Still, Agnes refused to look at her. Even as she ushered Oliver into the lower deck. Annabelle told herself she didn’t care.

It was several hours later that Agnes finally confronted her in the bridge. Annabelle heard the door open and shut. 

_ “What the  _ hell _ was that?” _ Agnes had shed her long coat in favor of her usual jacket. She was soaked to the skin, and from the look of her face she was truly and properly  **pissed.** Her jaw clenched.

Annabelle turned to face her. “I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Annabelle, you know exactly what I’m talking about,” she snarled. “What the  **hell** were you thinking?”

“I don’t see what the problem is here, I told you what I was planning to do once we found Oliver.”

Agnes was breathing hard now, face flushed and red. She was more worked up than Annabelle had seen in a long time. “You didn’t tell me you weren’t going to hear him out! For fuck’s sake, he was just waking up and you were already looking for a way to put him down under again.”

“We couldn’t take the chance!” Annabelle took a deep breath. “Becoming an Avatar changes you. Makes you cruel, merciless.  _ You _ wouldn’t understand,” she couldn’t help but adding.

“Don’t even  **fucking** start.” Agnes jabbed Annabelle in the chest with a finger. Her hair seemed to come alive with her fire, a sure sign of her losing control. “You have no right to play executioner.”

Annabelle took a step back. “He is an ally to us, Agnes, nothing more.”

“Jesus, do you even hear yourself?” Her voice went suddenly quiet, fire dying out. “You’re just like  _ them _ . Worse, even, because for a second there I really thought…”

“Agnes-”

“I’m just some tool for you to use and throw away when you’re done with it. Aren’t I?” This time, the tears lingered too long to disappear. 

“No. You’re not. That’s not what you are to me, Agnes.”

“Then tell me.”

Annabelle thought for a moment. Clearly… there were still things she needed to consider. “I- It’s been so long since I’ve felt anything like this, I can scarcely remember the feeling. Agnes, I’m sorry if I made you feel-”

“You did.” The answer came blunt and harsh. Annabelle supposed she deserved it after all this time.   
“Then I’m sorry  _ that  _ I made you feel like you don’t matter to me.” She bit her lip. And reached out for Agnes’ hand. “You’re  _ family. _ You have been for so long I can’t remember when I started thinking of you as such.”

Agnes looked away. She drew her hand back. “Why isn’t Oliver? Family, I mean.”

“I don’t know. He just isn’t. Not yet, anyhow. But you know I can’t apologise for prioritising Jon’s safety in that situation.”

“Fine. Okay.” Agnes wiped, slowly, at the tears on her face. Brown eyes looked up. “But if Jon and I really  _ are _ your family? You need to prove it.”

“How?”

“You can start by giving a shit about Oliver as a person for starters. Like it or not, he means a lot to us. You need to know that.”

Annabelle gave her a small smile. “I can do that.”

“Good.” Agnes started towards the bridge door again, and opened it. The sounds of rain filled the room. 

“Where are you going?” Annabelle asked. 

“To go check up on Oliver. Because he’s my  _ friend.” _ Agnes paused at the doorway, looking behind her. “You’re welcome to come around later, if you want. I can take over steering for a while.”

And as Annabelle turned to focus back on the stormy seas outside, she thought she might just take Agnes up on her offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels like forever since I've written this fic. You can probably guess why, with everything that's been going on. Nevertheless, I'll try to continue writing, and I hope this can provide some relief for all of you, however brief. 
> 
> https://tsukiko-no-art.tumblr.com/post/618278898128519168/another-magnus-archives-piece-this-time-inspired  
> Shoutout to @tsukiko-no-art on tumblr for making this amazing fanart of web!Jon. I'll treasure it forever! 
> 
> Also, I've made a sideblog for this AU at @nomoreidlehands on tumblr, in case anyone wants to have a proper conversation, send me things, etc. Not much there at the moment, just some playlists , but I'll also be posting six-sentence Sunday wips.  
> The Spotify alternatives to the playlists are as follows:  
> Lady of the Web: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5gNAyf6bV69vfmTvnjP5Rr?si=6hCsXpbPT6S4kDJ-u6sYeg  
> Daughter of the Flame: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2hhdJeIB9lWXcJj0z9BnQp?si=2OkPDh0BTS-N2M6cZAZ7YQ  
> The Servant Prophet: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1RY7SRIwcCO7XqH18eoVFK?si=kcJCqx93RWau2RhffTanxg
> 
> Stay safe, everyone, and have a lovely day!


	9. Chapter 9

Jon could hear voices coming from Nikola’s tent as he paused outside of it. They were low and grumbling, vaguely familiar to him. But then again, after spending the last couple of weeks here he knew nearly everyone at the circus. 

“-een here for nearly a month now, innit? Can’t keep living like this, it’s-”

“-not right. Stiflin’ us for so long,” another identical voice interrupted. Ah, Breekon and Hope. To be honest, the two strongmen still quite unnerved Jon. He’d made friends with Azar the fire-eater, Danny, the tightrope-walkers (there were three of them), Nikola, and the ‘tiger’ that lived in the cage here but still rarely talked to those two. It was their first meeting, he supposed, that had frightened him so badly.

He heard Nikola’s shrill-voiced reply. “Don’t _be_ _impatient,_ boys! _Annabelle’s letter_ only _just_ came in, _after all!_ She’ll be here _soon enough.”_

Jon frowned. He hadn’t received any new letters since the one 5 days ago, Nikola must not have given this one to him yet. 

“Been saying that for weeks. Can’t-”

“-take this for much longer.” 

From where he stood, Jon could almost imagine Nikola waving a long, plastic hand.  _ “Yes,  _ yes, of course! Why don’t you  _ go into the town _ if you’re  _ so eager, _ hmm?  _ Always _ good victims there.” 

That seemed to satisfy them, at least for now. As they passed him on the way out Jon hid himself behind the pinned back circus flaps. 

Jon readied himself and entered. “I know you’ve been toning things down around here,” he said. “The Circus gets up to worse things usually, doesn’t it?” he asked. 

“But, _of course!”_ Nikola clapped, standing from her desk. Jon was surprised by her veracity. His gaze followed her as she stood higher and higher. “Far more… _blood_ spilled at performances. _Worse_ yet when there’s _none_ _at all!_ Who _told you_ about what _we_ get up to, _anyhow?_ Was it _Annabelle?”_

“Agnes, actually,” he admitted. “She doesn’t like to keep secrets from me.”

Nikola tutted, putting a hand to her cheek.  _ “Yes, _ Desolation Avatars  _ are _ far less likely to obscure the truth,  _ aren’t they?” _

He wondered, briefly, who else she could be talking about.

“Now,  _ how much _ exactly did you  _ hear, _ spiderling?” Had he not spent many nights practicing his abilities with her Jon would be frightened by the tight smile on her face. (How could a smile look tight on a mannequin face, anyhow?) 

Instead, he found himself feeling strangely guilty. “Not for long,” he admitted. “Did you know I was there?” 

Nikola shook her head ill-fitting curls bouncing as she did so. “You’re getting  _ quite good _ at  _ espionage, _ aren’t you?” Her face twisted into something resembling a smile. “I did not.  _ I _ think you deserve  _ a reward for that, _ no?” She pulled an envelope from her desk and handed it to him. 

“Thanks,” Jon smiled. “I’ll, uh, see you later tonight, right?” 

_ “Of course! _ I’ll tell  _ Daniel you’ll be _ late to  _ practice.”  _

As Jon headed to his own tent, he looked at the envelope. 

Like the others, it was slightly waterlogged and addressed to ‘Jonathan Sims’ in lilted, cursive writing. He turned it over in his hands, prying open the wax seal. 

_ My Dear Jonathan, _

_ I find it has been far too long since I last wrote you a letter. Truly, I hope you are doing well and your lessons with Nikola are going well. It pains me to not have spoken to you all this time. Agnes, of course, sends her regards.  _

_ Oliver, as well, is doing far better than he had been a week ago. From what we can gather, while he does indeed still feel insidiously cold and his skin still retains its darkened hue, he remains otherwise well.  _

_ We will be attending your performance with the circus on Thursday, with the exception of Oliver who has decided to take the time to rest.  _

_ Best of Wishes, _

_ Annabelle Cane _

Hey kiddo, hope you’re doing well. Annabelle tells me you’ve been getting along with some of the other folks at the circus. That’s good to hear! Won’t be long until we’re there xo 

**Heard you were worrying about me, Jon. There’s no need, really, I’m completely, 112% healed. Did you get the tape I sent along with the last letter? Hopefully the Walkman can play it despite the moisture, haha. See you soon - Ollie.**

The writing in Agnes’ note, separate from Annabelle’s, was burned slightly at the edges, and Oliver’s notecard was slightly smudged near the end. Jon set it down by his sleeping bag with the rest of the opened letters. Thursday, huh? That was in two days. 

Jon felt a smile spread across his face. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy his time at the circus, really, but he missed Hill Top Road and his guardians. Now, more than ever, he thought of it as his home, where he belonged. And the Circus of the Other would never be the same. 

He closed the lid of the trunk he’d been using for the past month and made his way to the big top tent. 

Since coming here, the circus troupe had set up torches on the beams of the tents, illuminating the tent better than it had been when Jon had first arrived. As he entered he ducked under two of the ‘stilt walkers’ practicing their act and waved to one of the contortionists. 

Decorations were still being set up for the performance 2 days from now, something Nikola would surely ask him to help with later. His ability to control spiders had proven quite useful in reaching the topmost corners of the tent. 

“Jon! Over here,” he heard Azar call from the back. He was a taller man today, with ginger curly hair and stylized glasses. 

He sat down beside him on a nearby straw pile. “Had to change already? I thought you were getting better.” By Jon’s count this was the third new face this week, only a slight improvement to the five last week.

Azar huffed. “I was! It’s just… hard to adjust when my limbs are always changing. Nikola’s not even letting me perform yet.”

Jon offered a reassuring pat on his back. “At least she isn’t making you practice 2 hours every day,” he said bitterly. “It’s not like we’ve made that many mistakes, anyway, I can walk a tightrope as well as anyone by now. It’s just hard to control someone when you’re so high up.”

Azar made a sympathetic sound. “Mm, that sucks. Where is Danny, anyway? I was supposed to help him fix his outfit.”

“He went out to get lunch, last I checked. I can help with the costume, if you want.”

“Sure! We’d better pick out something ridiculous to get back at him, though, “ he winked. 

Jon found that after some time, he’d grown to like the makeup and flashy outfits that were so commonplace in the Circus of the Other. Azar had decided long ago that he needed some sort of gimmick to fit in with the rest of the troupe. As a result he was now (very reluctantly) wearing suspenders and a tailcoat with bright red and black with spiderweb patterns across the back. There was a mini top hat on his head, too, which Danny had insisted completed the outfit. Jon hadn’t argued. They did match now, after all, and he found the costume was growing on him.

But now it was performance night, and it felt far too tight around him. Despite having done the routine hundreds of times, Jon still hesitated over the taut tightrope as he stood on the platform 40 feet in the air. From up here, the people looked unrecognisable, and even if he tried Jon was sure he wouldn’t be able to find Agnes and Annabelle down below. 

He bit his lip. The balancing pole felt heavy and far too long in his gloved hands. Distantly, he heard Nikola call his name amongst the other performances. This would be about the time in the routine where she gestured up at him from down below, and announced him as the Puppeteer. 

He took a deep breath and stepped onto the tightrope. 

The thing about tightrope walking, really, was that no matter how thick the rope actually was, it felt way too thin once you stepped onto it. Like a paper-thin wire, cutting into his feet. 

Every second seemed to last an hour. 

Jon took a step slightly off-balance and felt himself tip to the side. The mistake was corrected soon enough, of course, but it didn’t stop him from letting out a yelp in surprise. Just another 15 feet, he thought, and then he was home-free. 

Down below, Annabelle saw Jon tilt, and felt her heart skip a beat. She grabbed Agnes’ hand reflexively, eyes glued to his small (too small) figure. 

“He’s fine, Anna,” she heard Agnes whisper beside her. She turned to catch a glimpse of brown eyes glinting in the dark. “Nikola wouldn’t have let him up there if it wasn’t safe. There’s still a net there.” 

And there was one, of course there was, right under where Jon was walking. But it seemed too far below for the safety it was supposed to provide, and Annabelle still worried. “Yes, of course. My apologies. I may have overreacted,” she said, drawing her hand back from Agnes’ gloved one. She still wasn’t quite sure where they stood in relation to one another after their argument on the ship, even after nearly three weeks. It was surprising how much you could avoid a person while still being trapped on a boat with them for a month. The tension seemed to linger between them.

The other woman shrugged. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.” 

And that was that. 

Jon let himself breathe a sigh of relief as he finally reached the tightrope platform. He spread his arms wide and made a sweeping bow, just as Nikola had taught him to do, hoping no one in the audience could see how much he was shaking. The light in his face was blinding as he stood, for a moment it was as if he was alone in the tent. He felt a bead of sweat roll down his forehead.

There was the sound of thunderous applause below, and all at once he understood the appeal of the performance. Jon felt the swell of mixed pride and relief fill him and smiled wider than he had in a long time.

But he wasn’t done yet. As the snare drums rolled, the spotlight shifted from him to Danny down below, who waved at everyone. He made eye contact with Jon and gave him a big thumbs up.

And Jon let his web ensnare him. Danny immediately went limp, like a doll, as Jon moved his hand subtly to manipulate his movements. 

To the audience below, it would seem as if Danny’s performance was mimicking a puppet, but in truth he had nothing to do with it. Jon made him wave and march around, toting his toy gun over his shoulder. He approached a nearby woman in the audience and tipped his hat, winking at her. The crowd loved it. 

It was difficult, to say the least, to have complete control over a person while so high up in the air, and Jon could feel his concentration wavering after only a couple of minutes. Nikola had told him it would be alright to let his guard down a little bit, and he could feel some of his more inhuman features coming out as he stood. It contributed to the costume, he hoped. 

Jon made Danny do one last bow to the audience before releasing him, shaking himself from his stupor. He grinned. 

And even though he couldn’t see where Annabelle was from up here, he knew she was proud of him. 

As he left the tent, Jon could hear people, from the audience and troupe alike, congratulating him on his performance. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling. 

But as he maneuvered himself through the crowd, he bumped into someone. A hand stopped him from going any further.   
“Hey. You were the kid on the tightrope, right? Performing?”

“Y-Yeah,” Jon said hesitantly. He wasn’t sure why, but something about the stranger unsettled him. Before he could dwell on it further, the man grabbed him by the arm and ducked behind one of the nearby caravans. 

He knelt down in front of him. “Hey, listen,” the man said, eyes searching Jon’s own. “If the Circus is keeping you here, I can help you escape, okay? Where did they take you from? Do you have any family members we can contact?”

Up close, the man was a lot scarier than he had first seemed. He had long black hair and a matching leather coat, piercings and black makeup on his face. But worst yet were the tattoos on his body, eyes on every joint. They seemed to stare at Jon.

Dread creeped into his veins. “I d-don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Still, the man pressed on. He placed a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Look, kid, you’re scared, I get it. But I can help. You just need to  _ tell me what’s going on.” _

Terror seized Jon as he felt a sudden probing at the man’s words. It was cold and invasive, and sickening. “No, no, I- Nikola! Azar! Help!” 

The stranger’s face turned panicked. “Wait, no, hold on. Don’t-” He reached out towards Jon.

“M-Mom!” 

To his relief, Jon heard the sound of familiar voices approaching. “Jon? Where are you? Hold on, we’re coming to get you.” 

In front of him, the man muttered a curse under his breath and fled, leaving Jon alone once more. 

That was when Agnes came rushing in, Annabelle at her heels.

“Jon! There you are, you did so good, kiddo! Anna and I loved your performance.” She stopped suddenly, seeing the look on Jon’s face, and bent down to cup his cheek. “Hey, what’s wrong? What happened? Are you alright?” 

He managed to nod. “There was someone here. Just a second ago. He kept asking questions, I thought he was going to take me.” 

“What did he look like?” Annabelle’s brow was pinched, her mouth creased into a harsh frown. Agnes sent her a stern look as she pulled Jon into a hug. He wondered what that was about.

“I dunno, he was tall. A-And pale. He was wearing all black, and he had really creepy eye tattoos all over him.” Jon buried his head into Agnes’ shoulder. 

If he had looked up he would have seen Annabelle and Agnes exchange a concerned look. 

Agnes held him closer and said quietly. “Well, you’re safe now, alright? I’m sure that man’s gone now. Or he’ll have us to deal with,” she assured him. 

“In any case,” Annabelle said finally, “we should get going. Nikola told me you have some things to gather and friends to say goodbye to. Are you ready to go home, Jon?” 

He looked up at her and nodded. To his surprise, she held out a hand to him, smiling. He took it. And as they walked towards the tent where he’d been staying she added, “we did quite enjoy your performance, dear, it was quite well done. You’ve progressed so much in your abilities already, much more than I would have expected. Though I do hope you’re fine with me giving you some pointers…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep jinxing myself about getting on a regular updating schedule, but this time for sure I'll get on it. I'm still a sucker for the circus aesthetic, surprise surprise, but this is the end of this little mini-arc for now. Gerry might make a guest appearance a little later, though. And yes, Azar is the same fire-eater from the first circus chapter. They're genderfluid. 
> 
> Rest assured, I'm not even close to done with this fic. I have some 6 or so more chapters plotted out, and possibly a sequel series if I can stay focused long enough to write it. 
> 
> As usual, thanks so much for reading and for all your lovely comments. Stay safe, and have a wonderful day


	10. Chapter 10

Annabelle had never imagined, when she’d moved into the house at the end of Hill Top Road, that she would use the greenhouse. 

It had been built by the old woman who had lived there prior, after the previous house had been burned down by Agnes. The old woman was, of course, no longer alive (or dead. Or anything, really. Annabelle had made sure of that.) So the doors to it had been boarded up, an unwanted annex to the manor, and the room had been left to gather dust for decades after. 

And then along came Agnes. And like much else of Annabelle’s life, that changed. As it turned out, her new friend had a penchant for gardening. When she asked about it, the redhead had wrinkled her nose in the way that made her freckles bunch together and said that it felt good to create instead of destroy. Annabelle didn’t think she’d ever understood more of her than in that very moment. 

So the greenhouse was opened. And slowly, it began to fill once more with ferns and flowers.

Which brought them to now, when Annabelle was carrying tea and biscuits to Jon and Oliver’s favorite study room. 

As she entered Jon nearly ran into her. He seemed to be in a rush, to her surprise, and barreled right past. “Jon!” she called. “Slow down, for God’s sake. You’re not at the circus anymore.” 

“Sorry! I’ll be back for tea later.” And with that he was gone.Annabelle huffed as he disappeared down the hallway.

Oliver chuckled. He was gathering up study materials inside, which Jon had left them sprawled on the table. “He’s eager to get back to his books, that one. _Text_ books, though, not so much.” 

“The apple never falls far from the tree, I’m afraid.” Annabelle noticed the mess on the table and went to help him. “You don’t have to clean up, Oliver, he needs to learn how to tidy up after himself,” she tutted. 

He set them back down in a pile. Annabelle noted that the notes were sparsely filled, littered instead with drawings. “I’ll be sure to tell him next time, then,” Oliver laughed. 

He became silent then, eyes still downcast. Annabelle could see his jaw working slightly. “Jon, uh, keeps asking me how I am. And I never know what to tell him, you know? I mean, he’s just a kid, and I-” Oliver cut himself off, eyes turning dark.

That sobered her up. As if a cloud had crossed over them, sunlight disappeared from the greenhouse in an instant. 

“Then tell me. How _are_ you, Oliver?” Annabelle asked. She took a seat at the sofa by the end of the greenhouse, motioning for him to sit beside her. “Adjusting to, you know…”

He sat down. “Being an Avatar? Fine, I guess. At least, I think I’m fine.” He took a breath. “It’s strange, isn’t it, how such a large part of you can change just like that? I don’t feel hungry anymore. Ever. The other day, I cut myself on a piece of paper while reading, and I didn’t feel anything. There wasn’t even any blood. And the next day, there wasn’t even a mark. I- I don’t think I even remember what it’s like to feel warm anymore, Annabelle. I don’t think I feel anything at all now.” 

Annabelle felt a sudden pang of guilt run through her. This is what she’d wanted, someone else who could protect Jon. And back then, she hadn’t cared for the consequences. She did now. 

“Is this how you two feel all the time? How can you even begin to deal with it?”

“Listen, Oliver.” Annabelle took his hand in hers. “I can’t… speak for the End. It’s such a different Fear from my own Patron that to try and compare them, it’s impossible. But I do know this. For me, at least, that sense of disconnection that comes with embodying a Fear is _always_ there. Lingering. We cannot possibly hope to encompass something so Inhuman, so old, without losing a part of ourselves in the process.” She gave him a watery smile. His eyes were so deep now, so empty, that it made her ache. “But I have also learned that there are things that can make you feel human again as well. It isn’t quite the same but… it’s enough to bring back some of that warmth. Just a little.”

“You’re talking about Jon. And Agnes.”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Hm. She means a lot to you, doesn’t she? Agnes, I mean. I didn’t take you for such a romantic.” Oliver let a smile flicker at the edge of his lips.  
She cleared her throat. “I… suppose I am a bit transparent in that sense.”

“Hey, better than the other end,” he shrugged.

“Yes, I believe so.” 

Everything would be alright, she hoped. It would just take a little bit of time. 

She found Jon, later, listening to a radio play in his room. Agnes had introduced them to him after he’d gotten back, and since then there was at least one played before bed. 

“Is Agnes back?” he asked as she passed. Jon was lying sprawled on the floor, and Annabelle had to resist the urge to tell him to clean his room. 

She shook her head. “I expect she still has business to tend to with the Lightless Flame. Why, did you need something?” 

“No, not really,” he sighed. Ah, pre-teens. Always so difficult. She could only _just_ see the disappointment on his face. 

Annabelle searched for something to say. _Oliver’s fine. There’s no need to worry._ “The milkweeds seem to be coming along nicely,” she said instead.

He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. She’s been real excited about those. They’re supposed to attract butterflies, I think.”

“That sounds lovely.” 

“Mhm.” 

And then, because there was nothing more to say, Annabelle sat down beside him to listen. Jon scooched over to make room. 

“It’s been a hell of a while since you last called,” was the first thing Jude said to her when Agnes called. 

And she had sighed. “Yeah? Well, I’ve had a hell of a month.” 

There was a low chuckle from the other end of the line, and Agnes could almost picture the insufferable smirk on the other woman’s face, even though they hadn’t seen each other in almost half a year. Some things never changed. “I heard. You still living at Hill Top? That broken down manor with the old woman and her kid?”

“I am. Annabelle’s the same age as me, you know. You can’t really call her an old woman,” she pointed out. 

Jude scoffed. “I’ll stop calling her one when the hag starts acting like she’s from this century. So stuffy. How d’you deal with her, anyway?” 

That old fire was burning up again. “Jude…” Agnes warned, trying to smother it.

“I know, I fucking know. I’ll shut up, alright? Not gonna let you hang up on me again.” Withholding the truth had never been easy for her.

“Good. It _still_ isn’t any of your business. I didn’t call to listen to you complain about my life choices, okay? Stay out of it.” There was the sound of interference, though Agnes couldn’t tell which end it was from.

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Jude muttered. Which really, was as close to an apology as you could ever get out of her. “‘m just asking.” They both knew that wasn’t true. 

Agnes leaned against the phonebooth. A light drizzle was starting to settle outside. She’d never been able to determine if it was the Desolation’s influence on her or not, but the rain had always bothered her, made her skin crawl. Maybe she just didn’t like her hair wet. “Mm. How, uh. How have things been there, anyway? Since I left, I mean.” _Do you miss me?_

“Same old, same old. Arthur’s trying to get everyone under control. No one’s really listening. He was never as good as Diego was. They don’t know shit about what to do now that you’re gone.” _Yes. Of course._

“And?” Agnes asked. 

“What do you mean, and?” 

She let her fingernails dance across the phone, just enough that it didn’t burn the plastic. “Do _you_ think I should go back?” She held her breath. 

There was silence, and then another huff. And when Jude spoke again it was uncharacteristically quiet. “Well that’s the fucking question, isn’t it? I mean, if you’re asking me as part of the Flame-”

“I’m not asking them. I’m asking you,” Agnes insisted. It was so hard to talk to her sometimes, like the cult had eaten up her thoughts until she didn’t have any of her own left. Maybe that was the point. 

“I don’t want to be selfish anymore. Not with you,” Jude said instead, and Agnes was surprised. “I don’t fucking want…”

She bit her lip and held her hand on the phone’s receiver, letting it melt and bubble just a little. It felt good. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Mm.”

“You’re welcome to come by the manor anytime, you know,” Agnes told her. God, it had been so long since she’d seen her face. She wasn’t sure how Oliver would react, but… “I managed to talk Annabelle down. She won’t try anything.” 

“I know.” And then, far, far, quieter, she said, “bye, Agnes.” 

And then there was the soft click of Jude hanging up. She let it linger.

“Bye.” 

Agnes put down the phone and took a deep breath. She adjusted her hat. It was pouring outside now, in droves, and she resented the thought of going out into it. But she did so anyway. And she exited the booth and walked the front steps into the Magnus Institute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience haha, I keep jinxing myself with update times. In any case, here's the next one! Some notes for this chapter: the flowers Jon mentions Agnes is fond of, milkweeds, symbolise freedom. Jude hasn't been mentioned at all apart from the first chapter, so I figured it was about time she made an appearance. I expect she and Agnes have a bit of a codependent relationship while at the Lightless Flame. 
> 
> On a far different note, this might be a bit of a stretch but would anyone be willing to beta read for this fic? I don't need much, but an extra set of eyes on the chapters would make me feel a bit better as well as someone to talk over plot points with. Leave a comment saying so if you're interested, and thanks again for reading!
> 
> @superqueerdanvers drew some really sweet fanart of Annabelle and Jon, check it out here: https://nomoreidlehands.tumblr.com/post/624294867151028224/superqueerdanvers-image-description-a-colored


	11. Chapter 11

TW: non-graphic descriptions of violence and murder

Eventually, once she was sure he had settled down enough and gotten used to his new body (she had to remember to thank Nikola), Annabelle taught Jon how to bait. 

She decided the best way to teach him would be by example. So they found themselves outside late one night a month or two after his thirteenth birthday observing a potential victim. They crouched in the bushes a little ways away from a train station and talked.

“The secret,” she whispered, all eight eyes glimmering in the dark, “is to create the illusion of something they cannot resist. Every human has one.”

It was nearly empty at the station at this time. It was much easier to isolate prey this way, Annabelle had explained to him. This lot were easy pickings. 

A sudden wind blew through the cedar tree they were standing under, and the scent of pine needles filled Jon’s nose. He shivered. 

“What do you use?” he asked, tilting his head. From what he could tell she hadn’t had her spiders weave any webs, nor latched onto anyone to puppet them. He couldn’t understand how she could possibly harvest fear like this.

Slowly, a smile spread across Annabelle’s face. Her teeth glinted menacingly. “Patience, my dear. All things come to those who wait.” 

The sound of a train whistle broke through the station, a sudden noise that made Jon jump. Annabelle laid a steadying hand on him, reassuring.

Out of the train, rickety as it was clearly more than a couple years old by the look of it, a single man walked out. He was distracted, listening to a Walkman and wearing a drawstring hoodie. Jon noticed that he hardly looked up as he exited, focusing instead on the ground.

The fly for the Web.

“Look at that man, Jon, at the very heart of him and tell me what you see,” Annabelle whispered. 

Jon squinted. He could feel his other eyes emerging, vision clearer than before. But even with that he could see little. “I-I don’t know. I can barely see anything around him, it’s so…” A moment of realization filled him. “Dark.”

Annabelle nodded approvingly. “Precisely. Seldom do we find those whose true fear is the Web. Therefore, we must improvise,” she told him. “The beauty of the Web is in its subtlety, the careful twists no one ever sees. And how it plays, carefully tuned, to each individual person. Do you understand?” 

“I think so. We use this man’s fear of the Dark against him?” 

He could barely see her now, so strong was the man’s dread. Almost sickening. “Yes, exactly. Now, watch and learn.” 

And with that, she stumbled into the open clearing, clutching her arm. Her high heel clicked, intermittently, as she dragged one leg against the pavement. 

“Hello? I-Is anyone there?” her voice echoed, frail, across the train station. It was so different from her usual tone that Jon had to stare. “I need help,  _ please!” _

It worked almost instantly. The man yanked the headphones from his ear, starting towards her. He pulled the hood from his head. “Ma’am, are you okay? What’s wrong?” 

Annabelle faked tripping and staggered into his arms. Jon noticed the fake blood on her temple, the rips in her dress. It was a good touch. “My car crashed, just over there.” She pointed in the direction she’d come from, where Jon knew a parking lot lied. But there was a train track just in front of it, too, he realized. “Please, my son’s still there, he needs help.” She was tugging at his sleeve now. 

“W-Wait, hold on. Do you have a flashlight or something?” he asked, holding back from her pull. 

Annabelle shook her head. She looked so distraught for a moment, in a way Jon had only seen her once before that he wanted to run to her. “N-No, why?” she asked

The man’s brow furrowed, worried, before he finally said, “no reason. Lead the way.” 

She nodded and started leading him in that direction. 

His fear was rank in the air as he stepped into the shadows, eyes darting around worriedly as if something would take him at any moment. It lay heavy in the air, growing by the second. By now Jon could properly distinguish it from the usual darkness, a gap of light that seemed to crawl on his very skin insidiously. It pulsed gently. Jon wrapped his arms closer around him. 

The man never even noticed the growing number of eyes on Annabelle’s face as they went. 

“Just a little further,” she insisted, heading forwards.

He nodded, saying nothing more. Jon moved from his spot in the bush towards the parking lot, making sure he was quiet as he did so. “Help! Mom? Are you there?” he called out. He hoped he sounded genuine.

Annabelle’s smile widened, ever so slightly, at the sound. “Right here, darling, just a few minutes more. Hold on for me, okay?” 

They quickened their pace.

After that, it was an easy matter of Annabelle simply jumping over the train tracks in front of them, the man stumbling to keep up. 

She nodded at Jon and he weaved his web.

He fell quickly.

He fell hard.

And the train came right on time. 

In the cold of the night and the darkness that shrouded them, the headlights were blinding as it passed. Annabelle wrapped an arm around Jon, fussing over him. And another kind of light was suddenly snuffed.

A small part of Jon, the one left in the cold, empty room of his grandmother’s apartment, protested. Turned away with every inch of its being as the image was seared in his memory. It screamed in horror at what it saw, and was. But those screams melded with the man’s own and the screech of train brakes against steel, slowly, until Jon could hear it no longer. And the rest of him? It  **_relished_ ** in that fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh... bit darker than the usual. Expect a sort of shift in tone as Jon becomes older and starts to discover the not-so-nice parts of being an Avatar
> 
> A big part of my inspiration for this chapter was Raffaele from the Young Elites, if anyone's read that. I love Marie Lu's approach to abilities in that book, especially the non-tangible ones. 
> 
> Special thanks to my betas David and Beau, you guys have been a great help and I appreciate y'all so much! <3  
> Once again, thanks for reading, likes and kudos are appreciated.


End file.
